Gentle to the Ground
by Min Daae
Summary: There is a part of Felix, somewhere, that still wants, still needs to be hurt. And more than anything, he hates that need. ONESHOT.


He woke gasping from the old dreams of black water filling his lungs, the hands of the kept-thieves drowned before him reaching up to drag him down under the water, grinning their hideous bloated grins and calling: _come down come down with us. _Jerking upright in his bed, disheveled and shaking, he realized he was not alone.

Malkar sat in a chair across the room, lounging indolently, smiling as he sipped a glass of deep-red wine. "Hello, darling."

Felix drew his knees to his chest and pulled the covers around himself, shrinking back, as though they would shield him. "Malkar." He breathed the name, fighting the panic. "How did you-"

"Find you?" Malkar smiled, teeth gleaming. Felix flinched from that smile, promising so many dreadful things. "Easily, darling. You cannot hide from me. Cannot run from me. And you will always come when I call." He snapped his fingers, still smiling. "Come, Felix."

It was like being jerked to his feet with a string. He went with a soft whimper, helpless, crossed the room on quiet feet and stopped before his once-and-always master. Malkar's hand caressed his jaw, setting his skin a-tingle, a shiver of fear running down his spine. "Is anyone…with you?" He shook his head, jerkily. The one night he slept alone. Not that it would have mattered to Malkar if he hadn't been. "Good," he purred, eyes glinting, fingers pausing on Felix's cheek. "Yes…good. Then I shall have you for a while."

Desire started a slow burn in him. Fear settled into a lead ball at the base of his spine. "Yes, Malkar," he said breathlessly, and Malkar laughed, hard and cruel.

"Don't be stupid, Felix. I don't want to hear you talk. It's not your _conversation _that interests me. And you know you couldn't say no. Not to me."

Felix nearly whimpered, feeling his knees go soft for a moment as Malkar turned away, stripping off his shirt. "Yes, Malkar," he said again, quieter, half bracing himself. Malkar's casual slap rocked him anyway.

"Shut up, darling," easily. "You tried to run away from me. Now you must suffer the consequences. I want you to _know _you can never get away from me. Because you can never get away from me, you know. You just don't understand that yet." He smiled and caught Felix's face in one hand, the other running through his hair for a moment, and Felix thought Malkar would kiss him. Then he shoved him to the floor, hard. "Down. Stay." His voice sneered. "Can you manage that much?"

Felix bit his lip to keep from answering, but Malkar was displeased anyway. His hands never bruised where it would be visible, but Felix arched and writhed with the pain, crying out as Malkar found and stimulated his most sensitive nerves to beyond bearing, slapping him down so his head cracked against the floor when he begged for mercy. "Stupid whore, worthless slut," he spat, thumb driving into the top of his thigh, hand closed on his hard cock just a little too close, squeezing briefly so he cried out in arousal and agony. "You are mine. Say it. Tell me how much you are mine."

"Kethe – Malkar – please, _please-_"

He woke again, shaking with suppressed sobs and curling into himself for the painful arousal that remained from the dream – nightmare. He shook with his need and terror and fought the tangle of sheets to touch himself, but it wasn't – wasn't enough. Wasn't…

Felix knew what he needed, knew the kind of rough treatment that would give him relief, submission and pain. Knew too, just as well, that there were places he could go, men he could find, who would satisfy those needs gladly, who he could beg for pain and they would give it.

Knew that it would be too much like the Shining Tiger again.

He dragged himself to his feet, fighting not to make a sound, and holding himself limped to the bathroom, trying to think through the throbbing need in his groin. He wanted – wanted – _Mildmay is only a door away, _the thought occurred to him, and Felix had to laugh, helpless, hysterical, leaning on the countertop, panting and shuddering. _God help me. _

Cracking his head against the wall might help. He let out a half laugh, half sob for that thought, desperation only increasing. Something sharp. If he could just – he threw open a drawer, frantically, and fished through it until he found what he was looking for. A small pin, as for a shirt. He didn't bother to look at the design, fumbling the clasp free and pressing the sharp end to his inner arm.

He closed his eyes and tried to press it in. The point prickled at his skin, almost drawing a moan from him, but he couldn't – make it break the skin. Couldn't manage even that much. He gasped a sob, head spinning, and cast the pin aside, clawing the bathroom door open and flinging himself into the dark, half-hoping to step on something and end it. Felix tried again to touch himself and wanted to scream for the pain even a brush drew from him.

Someone else. It had to be someone else. It had to be _someone else… _

Felix staggered, dropping his head forward into his hands with a desperate, frantic, pained-animal noise. No. _No. _The one option was clear, but he fought it, fought from taking it, fought it with all the ferocity he could.

But there was no way around it. It was that or the Lower City, and at least he trusted Vincent.

The door opened, quietly. The door between his and Mildmay's room. He froze.

"Felix?" Mildmay's voice was hazy, fuzzy with sleep. "What's going on?"

_No. No. Nonono. _He fought the sob trying to claw its way up his throat and stayed silent, trembling, breathing hard.

"Felix, what the hell-" Mildmay turned the light on and took one look at Felix. Whatever he saw had him limping across the room before Felix could tell him to stop. If he would have been able to. "—what _happened?_" Worried, now, and Felix could only imagine. He must look like hell.

_I'm fine_, he wanted to whisper, or simply, _go to sleep, Mildmay, _but his mouth betrayed him, voice almost a whimper. "Mildmay – _please_."

It was the voice, the voice from the dream, desperate, pleading, wanting. Mildmay froze.

"…Felix?"

He took a deep shuddering breath in. The next words came out in a whisper, because he couldn't make them more, feeling as though he would scream if he let his voice rise. "Hurt me."

The moment of utter stillness was terrible. He didn't dare look at his brother, trembling, conscious only of the need that was pain, the need for pain. Shame burned him, warming his face.

"—what're you talking about?" Mildmay's voice was rough. "Felix-"

"_Hurt me,_" he said, again, desperately, one hand clenching around the other slender wrist, nearly hard enough to bruise, but it didn't make a difference. "Please. Something. It doesn't matter – just – _please._" Fear and uncertainty flickered in the glimpse Felix caught of Mildmay's eyes. He couldn't care. "God – _please!_"

Mildmay was stock still for another minute, then shifted, just slightly. "Does it matter what-"

"Just do it!" He cried, desperate, teeth clenching, thrusting out his left arm. "Just- god – _Mildmay-_"

"Hold still," Mildmay said, too rough, too quiet, and Felix felt his hand gripping his arm as a relief and his whole body tensed, taut as a bow bent about to snap. "I don't want to…" he trailed off.

"Hurt me?" Felix heard himself say, and laughed, hysterically, through the panting and breathlessness of excruciating need. "Mildmay – _do it._"

The first bite of metal on his inner arm was a relief. He shuddered, a cry on his lips, body fighting to arc. He heard the hiss through his teeth, and threw his head back, chest heaving. "Kethegodhelpme-"

Another inch down and the pain ratcheted up, exquisite agony, nearly crying out. Lower and he couldn't hold himself still. He thrashed, body bucking despite Mildmay's curse of alarm, the knife slipping sideways in an unexpected line of fire and _there- _

He came violently, a scream bursting through his lips, mind going completely blank for unending, blissful heartbeats, aware of nothing but the relief and release.

Then it was gone, and he was simply a panting, trembling mess on a chair. His brother sat back on his heels, staring at him expressionlessly. Felix couldn't meet his eyes. "…thank you," he said, in a hushed voice, finally.

Mildmay stared at him more, not saying anything. Eventually, "You're gonna need stitches," noncommittally. Felix looked down at his arm for the first time and noticed the deep, sideways gash he'd cut in his own arm with his movement. And blanched. "It's all right," Mildmay said, standing awkwardly and grabbing a cloth, shoving it at Felix awkwardly, who pressed it to his arm at once. "It's not that bad."

There was another small silence. "I'm sorry," Felix said eventually, hesitantly, in a small voice. Mildmay just shook his head, voice as unreadable as his face.

"Want me to – get someone? To deal with…" He trailed off, awkwardly, with a gesture. Felix tensed.

"_No. _I mean – would – could you…" He trailed off, looked away, the shame biting double now.

Mildmay hesitated, then nodded, slightly. "I can do that, think. Won't necessarily be pretty."

Felix shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

Mildmay paused, but said nothing more before he vanished into his room next door.

Allowing Felix, finally, to bend double and cry; tears of shame, tears of exhaustion. And he can't help but see the expression on Mildmay's face as he begged to be hurt and think _worthless slut_… _worthless…_

By the time his little brother came back with a needle and thread, Felix had himself back under control, face and eyes dry, as if he'd never been anything less.


End file.
